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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22645780">Sightless-Eyed And Empty-Jawed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonatedblood/pseuds/carbonatedblood'>carbonatedblood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, And Lots of It, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blind Eye Society, Cliffhangers, Cults, Gen, M/M, Memory Erasing Gun (Gravity Falls), Short Chapters, Slow Burn, Spoilers - Journal 3, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Nothing, but i figured id tag it anyways, dont wanna spoil anything but theres gonna be some pretty hefty stanbros angst later, fiddleford hadron "slightly unhinged young man" mcgucket, first attempt at a chaptered fic AYO, ford is fucking stupid but it works out, ford is still pissed at stan after like ten years, ford may be a genius but hes a fucking idiot, probably, self-deprecation, unnecessary capitalization for Dramatic Effect, very very VERY briefly - Freeform, was it ten years???, way too many commas but yknow what whatever no ragrets we die like men, whatever the point is ford is a little pissbaby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:33:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22645780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonatedblood/pseuds/carbonatedblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They say desperate times call for desperate measures, and sometimes those desperate measures involve painful decisions. Sometimes those measures involve joining your ex-research-partner's cult. Sometimes, those measures involve throwing away everything you've worked for to exorcise a demon and accidentally ruining your entire life- whether you see it or not. And that's perfectly okay... Right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fiddleford H. McGucket &amp; Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: Stanford Pines, Professional Imbecile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stanford paced back and forth across the carpeted floor of his study. </p><p>It’d been approximately three weeks since The Incident that prompted his partner to quit, and therefore, weeks since he’d had any sort of human interaction- save for the brief eye contact he’d made with the cashier at the convenience store when he’d gone out to restock his fridge. This wasn’t the longest he’d spent alone, far from it- but the one vital difference? <em>Now he was alone with Bill. </em> </p><p>His Muse- nay, the monster he had foolishly trusted as such -had since The Incident revealed his true intent, and without Fiddleford by his side, Stanford felt truly powerless. Usually when they’d encounter some sort of beast on their trips through the wilderness, Fiddleford was the one to suggest a solution. As much as Stanford hated to admit it, <em>Fiddleford </em>was always the one to snap him out of his daze when he was too caught up in his journal to realize the gaping maw of the creature in front of them.<em> Fiddleford </em>was always the voice of reason in these situations.<em> Hell, Fiddleford warned him about Bill. And he didn't listen. And now, Fiddleford was gone. Now, Stanford was alone.</em></p><p>He was now alone with the very demon that the mere <em>sight </em>of damaged Fiddleford enough to drive him to not only quit a project he had been so unquestionably passionate about, but give up on the opportunity of a lifetime.</p><p>He had tried everything he could think of-ancient incantations, physical force, sleep deprivation- to get him out of his head, but nothing worked. If he hadn’t already gone mad from the lack of sleep, the countless hours he’d been pouring into researching Bill would certainly drive him off the edge soon enough. </p><p><em>“Damn it! God fucking damn it! </em>” Stanford growled, griping punctuated by his heavy footsteps in the otherwise dead silent room.</p><p>His anxieties ran a mile a minute. <em>Was this going to be it? Was his own stupidity really going to be the death of him? Was he, Stanford Filbrick Pines, scientific GENIUS, really ludicrously egotistical enough to fall for the flattery of the devil himself? God, he really was no better than <strike>Stanley.</strike></em></p><p>He’d almost lost all hope when he got an idea; <em>If the history books didn’t have the answers to banishing Bill, maybe HE did.</em></p><p>He picked up his journals and furiously flipped through dozens of pages, holding onto some baseless hope that he’d recorded <em>something, </em>some incantation or ritual (that he hadn’t already tried) that could possibly assist him in ridding his mind of Bill. At this point, he was willing to do anything; even make a deal with some <em>other </em>demon to duke it out with Bill inside his mind if push came to shove. <em>Was that even possible? He’d have to look into it. </em></p><p>After Volume 1 yielded no results, he assessed Volume 2. Page after page, word after word, ancient curse after beast after ancient curse, Stanford assessed <em>everything </em>he’d written. Unless he could somehow scare Bill out of his mind with his old blotchy illustrations, Volume 2 was just as fruitless as the first. By the time he’d reached the last entry of Volume 3, he’d lost all hope. <em>Maybe he should just commit suicide. Bill can’t do any harm if his host is but a corpse, right?...</em></p><p>… Or maybe not.</p><p>As he read his most recent entry, a thought crossed his mind that under any other circumstance he would have resented. </p><p>
  <em>But at this point, he was willing to do anything.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bloody Teeth and Hooded Men</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>buckle up kids.. this is where things start going downhill</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With a crash , Ford whipped his study’s door open and ran down the hall. He slipped on his boots and coat as he headed outside, the light leaking from the inside of his home briefly illuminating his patio in the otherwise dark night.</p><p>The snow outside his cabin made a loud crunch with every step he took down the tree-enveloped path into town. Though the brutal cold nipped at his nose even through his thick woolen scarf, he didn’t mind. He’d much rather have to deal with frostbite for a couple months than let Bill get away with whatever he had planned. </p><p>Although the motive behind his walk was quite solemn, he couldn't help but appreciate the scenery around him as he made his way through the evergreen-lined trail. There was a beautiful irony in the way last night's snow covered the branches of the trees like a warm blanket atop a sleeping child that Ford couldn't help but chuckle at, and there was something in the way the moonlight shone through the brushes that night that felt like <em>home. </em></p><p>When Ford finally snapped himself out of his daze, he found himself exactly where he saw Them last- the alley leading up to the convenience store. </p><p>Ford surveyed the area around him as he stepped just barely into view of the empty parking lot. The neon green of the overhead “Dusk-2-Dawn” sign illuminated the otherwise completely dark alleyway just enough for him to see the silhouettes of multitudinous knocked-over trash cans and various profanities and ominous symbols crudely spray-painted onto the building’s exposed concrete wall. <em>Jeez, </em>he thought, <em>the place had a different vibe at night.</em> It almost felt like a fever dream- but that may have just been the sleep deprivation talking. As sure of his plans as he'd been up until that point, he began to question himself as his situation really set in.</p><p>...But he’d already opened his mouth before he could overthink his way out of it. Ford let out a deep breath as he spoke,</p><p>“Oh my! That sure was eerie! Paranormal, almost!” </p><p><em>He knew that he never had been a good actor, but this was incredibly unconvincing, even by his own standards.</em> His words were tinged with slightly more desperation as he projected, </p><p>“What I wouldn’t do to unsee that!” He punctuated his sentence with an almost cartoonishly exaggerated cough.</p><p>As he finished speaking, nil but the howls of the wind responded. The silence almost taunted him as he stepped further into the barren parking lot. <em>God, he probably looked like an idiot right now. </em></p><p>
  <em> Whatever. Whatever it takes. </em>
</p><p>“In fact, I better call the police before this spooky situation gets any worse!”</p><p>Yet again, silence.</p><p><em>Who was he kidding? This was stupid. He was an idiot for even considering this might work. </em>Ford let out a guttural sigh, dragging his feet across the ice-covered pavement as he began the trek back through the alleyway.</p><p>
  <em>What went wrong? None of the variables had changed- Same time of night,  same... Dead raccoon..? Yep, that’s a dead raccoon. Yeesh, they’ve really ought to clean this place up at some point.  </em>
</p><p>Stanford looked up at the night sky, and at that very moment, the realization truly hit him-</p><p>
  <em> This was it. </em>
</p><p><em>He’d lost to Bill. There was no other option. Nothing else he could do. I mean, there couldn’t be- if there was, he wouldn’t’ve resorted to, for all he knew, sacrificing himself to a cult! This was really how his story ended. Not discovering the secret to immortality, not with a natural death, not with sacrificing himself for the greater good- no. He was really going to die at the hands of his own elementary mistake. Pathetic. Hell, even </em> <em>Stanley</em> <em> was probably- nay, DEFINITELY doing better than him, and HE was the one who got kicked out. FORD was the one with twelve PhDs, thousands of dollars in grant money, and his own home- why was HE the one to end up dead in a ditch in some nowhere town? Why was HE, in such a cruel twist of fate, going to end up nothing but a </em> <em> stain on the Pines family name when HE was the successful one? It didn’t make a shred of sense! This wasn’t how it was supposed to g--  </em></p><p>Before he could so much as finish his thought, he felt a cold hand press against his back. </p><p>His heart dropped, as did his head to the frozen-over pavement with a loud <em> thud. </em>He felt the air leave his chest quicker than his hopes as his mind began racing, trying to comprehend what’d just happened. <em>Who was that? WHAT was that? Was he hallucinating? God, they need to salt these roads! </em></p><p>Just as he recovered from the shock of the impact enough to muster the strength to push himself up off the ground, he felt a firm tug at his ankles.  <em> Had this been…? No. It couldn’t have. </em></p><p>“Hey!” Ford stammered through bloodied teeth, “Who are you? Are you w-”, his fragile attempts to speak quickly ceasing as he fully registered the pain he was in. His eye stung to hell and back, his left arm had gone completely numb, and with each breath he took, he felt a sharp pain in his chest- not to mention the throbbing headache coming on.</p><p>His last few seconds of consciousness were spent gripping the frozen ground below him with twelve trembling fingers and trying to distinguish the face of the figure dragging him down the alley, but to no avail- all he could make out through aching eye and cracked glasses was a red cloak.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ford woke up in a cold sweat, headache worsening with every passing second. He tried to lift an arm to massage his neck, but quickly noticed a cold, metal bar holding his wrist in place. </p><p>The room he sat in was cold and dark. Though it appeared to be empty at first glance, as his eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight, he found himself surrounded from every visible angle by somewhere between five and eight humanoid figures, forms obscured by baggy red cloaks. </p><p>No sooner had he recalled the events that lead him to where he was than the tallest of the figures had approached him from across the circle. The man pushed a hand under his hood-<em> That hood! </em>The symbol on it was unmistakable!  -as if to adjust a pair of glasses.</p><p> His face was cloaked in shadow, but it didn’t matter. Stanford would recognize that voice anywhere. </p><p>“Well I’ll be! If it isn’t Stanford Pines,” the man said, sounding almost relieved as he paced across the room, “If I’m not the luckiest man on earth. I’ve been hoping you’d show up! Heaven knows you need our help.” Whether or not his enthusiasm was genuine was unclear.  </p><p>Ford opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. </p><p>“Now, what exactly brings you here?” the man chuckled, stopping in his tracks, “Something finally push you off the edge?” </p><p>Ford’s blood boiled. He’d spent a frankly humiliating amount of time planing what he’d say if he ever saw his old friend again, but none of the options he had prepared were appropriate for this situation, <em> because why would he ever need to CONSIDER this situation? </em> Through countless emotions, he managed a pathetic- </p><p>“Fiddleford?” His voice cracked as if he hadn’t spoken for months. </p><p><em> It was all so surreal. Seriously? His research assistant, his FRIEND, the one person he trusted, of all people, was the one behind this cult? It’d crossed his mind before, but he’d dismissed it, because it DIDN’T MAKE SENSE! This wasn’t right. God fucking DAMMIT! How long had this been going on? How long had he been doing all this behind his back?.. No matter. What was important was to get Bill out of his head, and get all of this over w- </em>His train of thought was stopped dead in the middle of the track by a simple-</p><p>“Stanford? Y’in there, buddy?”</p><p>Ford cleared his throat. His mouth still tasted of copper and gravel. </p><p>“Fiddleford, I-” He was barely sure what to feel, let alone what to say. Ford’s  voice was still thick with emotion, despite his best efforts to speak otherwise, “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you- about Bill.” With that name, Fiddleford’s eyes widened- whether with fear, pity, or rage, Stanford was unsure.  “He’s a monster. It was foolish of me to trust him.”</p><p>He paused, trying to collect himself.</p><p>“I know you hate me. I would too. But please, I’m begging you- just this once. Once we’re done here, we never have to speak again. But I <em> need </em> to use that gun. I’ve hypothesized that erasing him from my memories may banish him from my mind altogether.” He waited for some sort of snarky comment from Fiddleford, who simply picked up the gun in a cold silence.</p><p>Ford could do nothing but watch whatever was about to unfold. He was about to apologize once more when the otherwise dark, barely candlelit room was illuminated by a quick flash of light.</p><p>Fiddleford chuckled, lowering the gun from his head- his demeanor alarmingly tranquil. He rotated the gun’s dial as he spoke- </p><p>“Hate you?” Fiddleford asked, a confused grin plastered across his face, “Why would you think I hate you? You’re wound tighter than a clock!” He giggled. </p><p>Stanford broke out in a nervous sweat. It felt as if the world was spinning around him. <em> Was Fiddleford… Mocking him? Seriously? At a time like this..? Unbelievable. Unless,  </em> The realization hit him like a bullet through the chest, <em> Unless he wasn’t. Unless he didn’t hate him. Unless he wasn’t mad, and he just pushed Fiddleford away for no good reason. Unless he still lo-  </em></p><p>The next thing Stanford knew, there was a gun to his head, and he did nothing but take a deep breath as the world around him stopped.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ended up publishing this chapter a little later than i hoped, but i'm sure i can speak for y'all as well when i say i'd rather have a polished chapter later than a complete and total trainwreck earlier :,oD bit of a short one again (enjoy it while it lasts- the plot really starts to pick up next chapter.. eyes emoji) but i hope yall enjoyed none the less!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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